Guys, girls and other people's weddings ...
My buddy's wedding was Saturday.
"How'd they meet?" my wife asked Friday afternoon as we drove to Wisconsin. My best friend from college was getting married and he'd asked me to stand up with him. Of course, I didn't have my tuxedo or know how to get to the church, but my friend's wedding was important to me.
"I don't know," I said.
"How can you not know?" She asked.
"It just never came up."
Why is how people met important? Unless some guy rushes into a burning building and saves a woman from certain death then flies her to safety in the Batcopter, how they met probably isn't that important.
"Oh, she was sitting next to me lunch and I ate all her fries when she went to the bathroom."
See? That's nothing compared to the Batcopter.
"He's your best friend," she said. "How can you not know?"
Ladies, guys don't ask a lot of questions. We might ask a buddy how he thinks the Packers are going to do this year. We might ask how much mileage their car gets. And we'll definitely ask if they've got more beer. But how he met some girl? Unless he brings it up, we'll just assume he picked her up in a sleazy bar and be done with it.
"He lives three states away," I said, completely negating the fact that with today's advances in telecommunications, I could find out this information if my buddy lived on top of a mountain in Tibet. "Besides, if they're getting married, there are more things to worry about - like the reception buffet."
"Well," she said. "I would have asked."
Silence crept into the car just long enough for me to get comfortable.
"How many people are standing up with him?" She asked.
"I don't know."
"He asked you to be a groomsman and you don't know how many people you're standing up with?"
I guess I never really thought about it. It's kind of like Pluto finally being asked to join the solar system. It didn't care how many planets it was orbiting the sun with, it was just happy to be there.
"No," I said, avoiding the Pluto analogy and opting for one with the Seven Dwarfs - or maybe it was the Smurfs. "But Gargamel and the Wicked Stepmother lived happily ever after."
She frowned.
"You're such a guy," she said. "If it were me standing up with one of my friends, I'd know how they met, how many people are standing up with her, what her dress looks like and what colors everyone was wearing."
And the groom's blood type and credit rating?
"Do you even know where they're going on the honeymoon?" She continued.
"Yeah, Costa Rica."
"Why do you know ... Oh, never mind," she said.
I glanced at the car clock. It read 5:30 p.m. The rehearsal dinner was at 6 p.m. and we were still an hour away.
"What time do we have to be at the wedding tomorrow?" She asked.
"I've got to be there at 1 p.m. for pictures, but we've got to leave the motel earlier," I said. "I've got to buy them a present."
I should probably learn to plan ahead, or maybe keep my mouth shut.
